


Dead or Alive

by dragongummy



Category: Sicario (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Forced Eye Contact, Friendship, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Language, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Tension, Touch-Starved, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, maybe slightly OOC?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6539251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragongummy/pseuds/dragongummy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fic exploring what I found to be one of the most interesting parts of the film- Matt Graver and Alejandro's strange bond of friendship that I could feel through the screen whenever he looked at Alejandro with fond eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead or Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly...off-canon? My imaginings of how they met and how their dynamic developed. Made up a little of Alejandro's past too. SPOILERS ARE POSSIBLE OK

Alejandro never said much. Ever, really. He tilted his head a lot when someone was speaking, which was a thing that he originally didn't do. He must have realized that blankly staring at someone with his sad, old dog eyes might make people uncomfortable, so he had to find a way to show that he was interested. Or at least listening. 

They first met in an interrogation room, after Alejandro had been recovered broken and bleeding near one of Manuel Diaz's drop offs for his money laundering. He fought savagely against the officer's that subdued him, managed to stab three of them, landing them all in critical condition. He was bandaged up and brought straight to him. There wasn't any way he was that close without information. No fucking way.

Matt was a devious prick, he'd give anyone that. He told the doctors to give him maybe a little too much pain medication. Get him a little looser, a little more pliable to be worked open. So he sat across from Alejandro. They didn't speak for a long while and when it was clear that Matt would have to be the one to steer this boat, Alejandro tipped over out of his chair. Matt didn't move. In fact, it was kind of funny. He leaned in his chair to see if he was awake. Alejandro had a palm to his eyes, the other cradled to his ribs. Two of which were broken, Matt remembered.

Finally he made to stand, but Alejandro flung an open hand out instead.

 _Stay back. Don't touch me._ He hauled himself back to the chair and kept his eyes forward, flicking them once to Matt to see his face. He was blinking a lot, squinting. Unfocused and glancing up at the ceiling as if he kept hearing something. Maybe he could, shit. He was high enough. Matt grilled him, asking questions, throwing insults. Psychological warfare, the whole shebang. But Alejandro said nothing. 

Matt somehow, somewhere, felt something for this stranger underneath the voice that told him not to give a shit.

\--  --  --

The facial recognition came back pretty fast. Interpol, FBI, CIA. He was ex Colombian cartel. High up. Really high up. Holy shit. When he dropped the papers in front of Alejandro, he glanced up at him. Silent. Presented with a folder on yourself and your crimes might be an eye opener.

"Alejandro is your name." Not a question. They've moved beyond that now. "Wife and daughter." Matt rubbed his eyes. "I don't need to do the whole threat of we'll send your wife and child somewhere do I? Just tell me where the cartel is planning on moving. We know they're going to be at the border, it's always there. But we have conflicting information that something big is being moved off the coast..." He stopped because Alejandro was smiling. 

"You will get shit from me."

Fuck protocol. Matt got up to throw the first punch, but when Alejandro simply closed his eyes to take it, Matt swore and left the room.

\--  --  --

So when Matt actually learned of what became of Alejandro's family only mere moments following, he started to recognize a little bit more of the flickers of emotions that passed through the man's eyes.

Sadness. Unbearably loneliness. Rage. Distrust. Doubt. 

Beheaded wife and daughter thrown into a fucking pit of fucking acid. He'd had to watch, that much was clear.

 _Fuck me,_ Matt thought.

\--  --  --

Matt went back into the room. Told Alejandro he knew everything. Alejandro kept his gaze down now, his brows coming together in what he would later realize was pain.

He presented him the deal.

_Help us catch these sick mother fuckers and I swear when we find him I'll let you have him._

Alejandro took it. Matt grinned.

\--  --  --

Their consulting started almost immediately after that, with the two of them hopping hotels together around the cartel's movements. Surveillance. Quiet wasn't a word to describe Alejandro. He wasn't a shy guy. Speaking wasn't necessary for him. He spoke with his eyes on those rare occasions that he actually looked at Matt. They spent the day building one of those spider web boards with the who's and the where's with good old fashioned strings connecting and looping around the other. He left for a minute to get food, half expecting Alejandro to be missing when he returned, only to find him talking in rapid Spanish to the nearby neighbors. Matt let him, intrigued by how comforted the people seemed to behave around him. He talked with his hands, tilted his head like he does, but was otherwise still. He came back to the room without a word, linking string and removing connections from the drug drop offs and connecting them instead with the underground tunnel systems they knew had to exist along several pipelines.

He held out a plate of food for Alejandro, who looked at it with a blank expression before taking it and setting it on the desk without eating it. He stood closer to the board though, tapping his fingers on his leg.

"Eat, you chupacabra," Matt said. And with that he talked and talked and talked. Saying the same things over and over but in different ways and the more he talked the more Alejandro would incline his head and hum in a way that very quickly let Matt know that this was him listening. He eventually sat down when Matt didn't stop talking and took his plate of food. He ate in silence, save for when Matt mentioned his daughter begging him for a damned puppy even though they already had a guinea pig, three birds and a ferret.

"What kind of puppy?" Matt looked at him. He said _puppy_ funny. Sounded like _poppy_.

"Golden retriever." Alejandro smiled at that, Matt copying it without wanting to. It was all he said that day.

\--  --  --

That first night was when Matt witnessed the nightmares. Alejandro whispered in Spanish, his eyes clenching so tightly that Matt's own eyes hurt. He thrashed and twitched and jerked. Matt didn't say anything the next morning. He didn't know what to say. Alejandro stayed quiet too, like nothing had happened.

\--  --  --

The fifth night in a row, Matt put his head in his hands when Alejandro shook and screamed himself awake before bolting to the bathroom. Alejandro knew he knew, but in the morning he said nothing. As always.

_Shit._

\--  --  --

By the tenth night in a row, _tenth night in a damn row_ , Matt couldn't watch it anymore. When Alejandro jerked awake and got up to stagger to the bathroom like he had every night, Matt stood up with him. He grabbed Alejandro's upper arm in a vice grip because he anticipated the sharp rejection as he tried to pull away. His other hand was on Alejandro's wrist, feeling his pulse racing.

"Stop it," Alejandro managed. But Matt puts a hand on the back of Alejandro's neck and waits for the tension to ease. Just a little. Alejandro doesn't move. Neither does Matt. Slowly, ever so slowly, Alejandro turns his head until their foreheads touch. Matt can feel him still slightly leaning away from him, like he was expecting Matt to pull out a shiv at any moment and stab him with it. Matt doesn't know what Alejandro's seen. What he's done. And he's torn between not giving a fuck and wanting to know _everything_. But when Alejandro's pulse finally starts to slow and his eyes finally meet his, he knows he's fucked. 

Matt sees trust in his gaze. Only a hint of it, only for a fraction of a second, but it's there. Clear as day and open for him to see before it's hidden away again.

"I'm sorry about what's happened to you," Matt says stupidly. It's all he can manage in the moment that's happening between them as Alejandro lets him back him to the wall closest to them. Alejandro fights it only for a second, his arm slipping between them to get distance before he allows himself to be held in this weird fucking way by essentially a fucking stranger. Their foreheads are still pressed together, Matt's hands are still in place on Alejandro's neck and inner wrist. 

Shit, Matt didn't even hold his damn wife like this.

"I'm sorry," he says again. And this time he means it, tries to tell Alejandro he means it because no one should have to watch their family die in front of them.

"Don't be," Alejandro says. Matt is still getting used to how little he actually talks and how his accent sounds. Alejandro's fist clenches between them. "Don't be," he repeats.

Matt can hear the subtext under it.  _Don't be. I've done worse._

"Whether or not you think you deserved it, _they_ didn't. So for that I'm sorry. For them," Matt supplies. It's what he knows Alejandro needs to hear. Needs someone to tell him he deserves this pain after all that he himself has caused. 

But Matt doesn't believe it, fuck.

Alejandro doesn't move. Neither does Matt.

They only mutually part in silence when Alejandro's heart rate is finally normal.

\--  --  --

When Matt happens to be awake to catch the start of the nightmares, when Alejandro's brows do that thing they do when he's in pain, Matt puts his hand on the side of his neck. Or on his arm. It helps he thinks. He sleeps that way. With the contact.

And the mornings following those nights Matt is fucking livid and tired from being up all night touching a grown ass man as he slept, but Alejandro talks a little. His gaze is clearer and he's flickering his eyes to Matt's once in awhile instead of constantly looking at the exits. He responds to his questions with a few words and it's worth it.

Jesus Christ, when did Matt Graver become such a fucking sentimental pussy?

\--  --  --

They'd been working together for a while now, almost a year. Alejandro won't stop fidgeting, his leg bouncing on the floor of the plane. Until Matt beckons him over from the couch he's been sleeping on to sit beside him. Then Alejandro simply looks out the window at the earth below and it makes something swell inside of Matt.

Knowing that all Alejandro really needs is to not be alone.

Matt slides him a rubix cube he picked up at the airport in Phoenix and fails at hiding his smile when Alejandro starts messing with it.

"All sides have to be one certain color," Matt says sleepily. Alejandro hums. The sounds of the object rotating lull him to sleep.

\--  --  --

Sometimes Matt could tell when Alejandro was losing touch with reality. It was after a raid or a bust or when he had to be in the front lines for a beat too long. It was when the team relied on him too much to drop the bodies, when Alejandro would go on ahead, clearing rooms on his own, slashing throats and spraying bullets.

When it was all said and done, the team would be smacking each other's asses or whatever it was these people did to celebrate murder. But Alejandro would be off by himself, like he normally was, cleaning his gun. Or more often, his hands, of all the blood on them. If Matt knew anything he knew that cleaning an already clean gun after you just killed ten men usually meant that you were trying to distract yourself from thinking about anything except how you maybe just killed ten men. And cleaning said clean guns with bloodied hands that you couldn't quite seem to get all the guts out from under your fingernails...well. Let's just say even Alejandro shouldn't be alone during shit times like that. 

Matt would sit next to him, note the way Alejandro's hands would still for a fraction of a second. How Matt would catch the faintest tinge of a one shaking before Alejandro would clench it tight and rest his other hand on top, his wedding ring a band of bright silver reflecting from the lights above. Matt would just start talking. About anything. About the great fucking migrations of the penguins in the South Pole. About how the government secretly is hiding aliens somewhere underground, they have to be. About the dog he once owned as a boy that he accidentally fed a brownie to and he thought it would die so he tried to perform the Heimlich maneuver on it.

And every time, every time, Matt would press his leg so it was against Alejandro's. To ground him. Alejandro never said anything, Matt didn't expect him to, didn't want him to. Just wanted him to listen. Needed him to listen to something other than gunfire, to feel something other than bones breaking in between his fingers. To feel safe on a higher place inside his own mind, there with Matt. And even though Alejandro's face was turned away from him, Matt knew he was grateful in his own way. He knew he was listening. And slowly, very slowly, _still too slowly_ , Matt thought. He would come back. He would face his face forward like he was finally okay with letting Matt see him now. 

Rarely were there openings like this, and Matt took it. He reached out, squeezed Alejandro's hand briefly in his, the familiar feeling of Alejandro's fingers gripping his thumb in search for an anchor. They sat like that in silence until they had flashlights in their faces telling them it was time to head back. Alejandro stayed close to him. 

\--  --  --

Sometimes there were months were Alejandro was called away to somewhere classified that not even Matt could have access to. It always had to do with cartel business, and he always came back a little more damaged then when he'd left. 

The fourth time this happened, they had been working together for three years and some change. He got a call saying Alejandro was heading back, to give him some space. 

"What'd he do now?" Matt joked. A fake facade of disconnect. Easily gets people to talk when they don't think you care.

"You know that's classified, Mattie." Matt grit his teeth, thankful that a phone couldn't convey that through a long distance call. "But you should know. He's your fucking problem." Matt held his tongue. He'd like to remind every single one of those fuckers in office that they are closer every day to taking these assholes down because of Alejandro and his intel. 

"We traded him for six of our own that were operating in the Colombian cartel. Their covers were blown, they had to get out. Before you say shit, they had vital information for us. You know we wouldn't have done it otherwise." _Yes they would have._ "And Alejandro got out anyway." Matt waited for the _but_.

"But he was..." _Tortured._ "tortured for a while. He didn't say anything, or so he says, but he's pretty tore up right now. Literally. So give him space. He's not to operate in the field for at least a few weeks. That's an order." _Click._

Matt prepared himself in every way he could. Expecting a wheelchair. A stretcher. Casts. Everything. What he saw was worse.

It was Alejandro. Just Alejandro off the jet. No one helping him. No bandages. No casts or slings or bandages. Even though he needed them. Dried blood caked the sides of his face and down the entirety of what remained of the shirt he was wearing. As he stepped down the jet's steps, he used the railing for leverage. His other arm he held close to himself, and Matt saw that it shook. It was also splattered in deep cuts. Deep enough that Matt could see muscle. Cuts on his side, on his neck. Everywhere that was visible and Matt was running up to him before he could glimpse any more.

Alejandro jerked away from his first advances, eyes to his feet. _Fuck fuck fuck. Why hadn't they **helped** him?_ Rage boiled inside him. Fuck them. It looks like he was literally just taken from the moment he escaped and thrown onto the jet. He reached out again and put his hand on Alejandro's neck. In a fury of movements, he was on the floor, being towered over with a hand over his throat. The pressure was gone the moment it started and he sat up on his elbows. Alejandro staggered back, falling to one knee as he turned to the side and heaved on the pavement. Nothing but mucus and blood came from his stomach and Matt cursed.

Alejandro went down fast and Matt took him to the nearest hospital. Internal bleeding. Broken ribs, leg, arm and collarbone. Ruptured spleen. Dehydration. Malnutrition. Matt had the doctor stop at this point. He gripped the paneling of the door to Alejandro's room.

\--  --  --

 

Three weeks Alejandro was out of the field. Things gradually got better, but Alejandro wasn't the same. 

Matt stayed closer to him from then on.

The nightmares didn't stop though. If anything, they got worse.

\--  --  --

The suits come and go, all of them having the same perverse interest in Alejandro's presence by his side. And the new agent is no different. FBI Agent Kate Macer. He catches her watching him as he slept on the plane. As he jerked awake from a nightmare. He could sense her curiosity. Alejandro didn't speak much to her at first, responding to her inquiries with looks that only Matt knew the meaning of until she settled back into her seat and left him alone. Matt caught his eye and winked. Alejandro cocked his head to the side before winking back.

Matt laughed. Out loud with an open mouth and teeth, placing a hat over his face as Kate turned to look at him with a confused look on her face.

 _How fun._  

\--  --  --

Shit hit the fan quick, and when it was confirmed by intelligence that it was done, that Alejandro had taken out Miguel Diaz, Fausto Alarcon and half of the cartel in the house before fleeing, Matt fell back into his chair. He paced and paced and cursed at people asking him what was wrong. And waited. And waited.

When Alejandro staggered into the back of his van, Matt pulled him tight to him. Alejandro didn't resist, the blade in one of his hands dropping with a _klank_ to the floor. The metal of the gun in Alejandro's other was digging into his hip, but that didn't matter. Instinctively Matt held tighter as he felt Alejandro shaking, finally putting an end to this part of his life. Matt pulled him away to get a look at him. He was covered in blood, his normally hooded eyes too alert and his movements too jerky. Matt had to pry his hands free of the gun, setting it on the floor. Matt tilted his head, trying to catch Alejandro's eyes which were cast down to the floor. He squeezed this shoulders. Encouragement. When that did nothing but make Alejandro try to step away, Matt caught his chin with one of his hands, directing it towards him.

"You don't need to say anything, _cabron_ ," Matt breathed. "Just let me know where you are." _Are you okay?_ Alejandro met his eyes then. They were misty, emotional. And his eyebrows were doing that pain thing they do. _No, I'm not okay._  Alejandro's hand came up and rested on top of his wrist. Not resisting, not even pulling. Just for the contact. Alejandro leaned into it. Matt's heart split. _Fuck me_ , he thought.

 _No, I'm not okay. But I can be if you need me to._ Matt pulled him into another hug, slipping a hand underneath the back of Alejandro's shirt to press his palm to the skin there. The kind of contact helped people who were going into shock, which Alejandro clearly was skirting the edge of. Contact is important, it's needed in a charged situation like this more than any other. It's so the other feels safe, so they know it's done and gone. It establishes something sensory to latch onto by making the person aware of something other than what they saw or did. If all else fails, the physical contact can at least prevent a catatonic episode that requires doctors and psychological briefings. He'd learned that the first time he was in the front lines of a tactical team a long fucking time ago. He felt Alejandro try to reciprocate, felt one of his hands clench into the back of the material on his jacket. It was odd, he and Alejandro becoming like this. Whatever the fuck it was that they had become. And they weren't supposed to be like this. Even on a good day.

Alejandro hummed. Matt shook his head.

"Don't apologize to me, you mother fucker," Matt hissed. He felt the hand at his back squeeze tighter, his head falling against Matt's shoulder in a form of surrender. And that was his cue to talk. He talked and talked and talked. Rocking Alejandro in his arms, one hand at his neck the other up his shirt against the goosebumps that had formed there.

For once, the team didn't give them shit and let them have their space.

\--  --  --

They sat at the back of the van, feet dangling as they rode away. 

"What happens now?" Alejandro asked. _What happens to me now that this is over?_ Matt heard the question. He was so in tune to the man next to him now, so accustomed to the language of his silence. Matt looked out at the deserted streets they drove by. The _policia federal_ lights flashing, bullets in the distance and fire on the hills. This is what Matt lived in, what he thrived in. Something he could try to make right, make better for the people who lived here. They'd get Kate Macer to sign off that everything they had done here tonight was right and procedure. That it was by the book and performed up to snuff. Alejandro would be fine, no charges would ever catch up to him. At least not with this job. Here in this place. Matt placed his hand on the back of Alejandro's neck, smiling when he felt the other man hum. One of the sounds he made when he was listening.

Matt presented him the deal.

_Stay._

Alejandro took it. Matt grinned.


End file.
